Mind my Heart, We’re Uneven…
Too many strains on the soul lends to the breaking of chains
Those grounding the heart to the plain, amidst all the hurricanes
Sometimes the skin above the veins boils when holding pain,
And nothing is left to gain, towards that dying flame, please refrain
All those before her were just random dames, petty war games
Intended to shade me, to maim my spirit, cloud my aim
Those dreams of desire is where I’d hunger for passion’s flame
No shame, no games, no one else to blame for what I became
When leading with my brain, I should’ve prepare for swift disdain,
I am, in fact, only human and make many mistakes
And I would be insane to tell you otherwise, such claims
Would profligate my thirst to call my love out by a name
I speak of being human like there is some line attained
One that clefts between heart and brain, like sun and rain,
Though a sun shower is where beauty and love is unchained
a rainbow gained, the vision of love from my windowpane
But the human condition is too complex to envision,
The heart and the mind still struggling; the world is a bitch and,
Some people catch feelings like opioid addictions
gained by prescription, or the mainline broken systems
The human heart needs provisions, while the brain needs a mission
Be cautious when they cross partitions, without permission
both are like politicians, uncaring of disposition
with weakness for ammunition, both guard imposition.
But staunch recognition to those willing submission
Admitting their rendition of balance is mocked cognition
Aside from kissing, when her lips glisten and muscles stiffen,
White lies is sure to blur vision, while tainting volition.
You can only trust your decisions, if both cells would listen
discuss what is given and accept it, as efficient.
There’s a long road to perdition, with too many vixens,
The last thing I would christen is my heart to a prison.
Before I twist the rhythm or cry about religion,
I need to find what gems are missing from my mental kitchen
Then integrate that with rhythm, sweet heart-beating rhythm,
And hope my inhibitions were worth such tactless ambition.
If not, put me in a coma, don’t supply me sorrow
Open my veins wide and pour the whiskey from the bottle
Be sure to hit the throttle, this face will be forgotten,
Such failures colossal, are undeserving of promise.
Differences continue to blossom, then gather like quorums,
Discussing my problems will often end at the bottom
to power through love’s sonatas, bottle bottoms are common,
Sometimes it’s so common, the result leads to vomit.
There’s always tomorrow, but such fortunes breed sorrow,
Sometimes I just kowtow, and pray that such love I will outgrow,
but bitterness is known, such inflows, my wellsprings, in swift flows,
Such sorrows deemed as apropos instead of being called hollow.
Too bad though, I’m a lover by craft, I cannot forego
Such an opportunity, to light the fire for this rondeau
To complete this Van Gogh, in such manners as to bestow
My heart and soul in such a cerebral trance, that I could glow.
Glow, like fire from the rooftops, or the birth of the evening star
Each night to be vested in this memoir of love…and scars
The stars have no idea about the scars, they shine from afar,
From space where desire can be fashioned from streetcars.
The symbolism courses deep, deeper than some sweet-heart,
if mining for love with radars, the obvious is so marred
Superficial bars are placed so the mind and heart cannot spar,
Such an avatar of love is no idol for anyone’s repertoire.
The answer is as simple as a gesture, an honest start,
Do not bogart feelings it’s not the way to play your part
In this integration of heart and mind, science and art
This perfect mélange of each, too hard to tell apart.
I could say this condition is what I’ve envisioned so far,
And that my decisions were efficient, or at least on par,
But I’d be lying, aside from kissing her, there’s so much more,
And when it comes to love, you should always be who you are—
No matter what the cost, because despite being cerebral
The heart wants what the heart wants, even if an upheaval,
Was the beacon, all things being equal, not deceitful,
Where the soul yearns for freedom and to feel most gleeful.
If my conditions require change, for a soul retrieval
Then to the easel I will go to render my sequel
Maybe refill the passion, not foreboding something evil
Perhaps in the future if all goes well, something fetal.
The flickers between, spoken in pure unfiltered treacle
As this fool writes of how logic and love should be equal
I am its disciple, its hidden secret, that special needle,
Love needs to mend the broken soul to be peaceful.
Tell Cupid I don’t need ’em, this passion is primeval
the heart when shattered in a million shards can be remedial
And the balance of love in people can be the vehicle
Where the foreseeable mind and heart are agreeable.
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